Place For Us
by Magdelyn
Summary: Katniss and Peeta's lives after returning home from the war, how they grow back together, one step at a time.
1. Chapter 1

I don't talk for sixteen days when I get back to district twelve. I go through the motions of life, my head full of cotton, that has no intention of blowing out anytime soon. I sip soup that is placed in front of me, I don't pay particular attention of where the food comes from, I just know I should eat it. I don't flinch when the hot broth flames on my tongue and slides down my throat. I'm only vaguely aware I should care about this, but I keep ladling the liquid passed my mouth, it tastes of air, after my taste buds have been scorched, not that it tasted like much more beforehand. At night I crawl into bed, my fingers curled around the thick blankets, each night it seems like another is added, more weight presses down on my empty shell body, but I cannot be crushed anymore than I already have in the past years.

It isn't until I have gone through several days of eating whatever is set in front of me and being smothered under my own weight, which has dropped considerably recently, in blankets, that I notice a figure, presumably the one taking care of me. The day a cheese bun in placed in front of me I notice the fingers on the edge of the plate, they connect to a heavily scarred arm, leading to a soft gray shirt, my eyes follow, my head moves, and the figure freezes. It must be the first time I've made any motion other than eating and sleeping. I look up into wide blue eyes.

_ Peeta_

Memories flash in front of my eyes, rain, mud, thrown bread, names called, fighting, loving, maybe the last one isn't true, maybe it is. I don't know. My head is still muddled with cotton. I don't say anything. He doesn't say anything. His mouth opens slightly, as if to talk, I stare at it. I look back to my cheese bun. I revert back to normal. Whatever that is now, eating, if you can call it that, sleeping, if you can call it that. My eating hasn't been great. I can feel my ribs trying to rip through my tightly stretched skin, I can feel my shirts becoming baggy, as though I'm wearing my father's old clothing. It's not the first time I've been so thin, though it is perhaps the first time I do not mind. I don't feel my stomach rumble in protest, trying to fill the emptiness with anything possible. I don't feel the fatigue all my limbs are weighted down with. My sleeping hasn't been great. The nightmares come, every night, I've lost energy to wake screaming, instead I wake silently, feeling my heart race with pain, staring at the ceiling, my mind as blank as my room walls, which I have never bothered to decorate. After the day Peeta gave me the cheese bun I've become slightly more in tune with the fact that he's here, leading me down the stairs in the morning, preparing me food, quietly urging me to eat more, "Please Katniss, you've gotten too thin, please eat," he pleads, pushing bowls of food I cannot taste into my hands. He starts fires and wraps me in thick blankets, feebly trying to get my body temperature up. When I fall asleep in front of the flames, I feel his arms wrap under my body, carrying me to my bed, layering more and more blankets every night.

This routine must have been happening since I got home, I assume.

Our procedure goes on happening for days and nights that I cannot keep count of.  
One night when Peeta lays me in bed the crushing weight on my body becomes too much, and it's not from the excessive amount of blankets Peeta has tucked me into. I am broken, and the pain is hitting me full force, after my time of numbness. I want it to stop. I need it to stop. I need someone. I need Peeta. I say my first word since coming back.

"Stay," my voice is cracked with disuse, the word pushes itself up my throat and out of my lips like the soap bubbles I saw the capital kids blow while on the Victory Tour. It comes out below a whisper. Peeta's head turns, as though he's not sure I actually said anything. He begins to leave again, and I know if he does tonight will be the night that I'm crushed. Crushed by the void so heavily left after the war. So I muster up another word, pushing it from my stomach up to my mouth and out, another bubble, more urgent and round than the last.

"Peeta," my mouth is paper dry, and it takes all my strength the utter his name. This time he does not doubt I have spoken. He sits in the edge of my bed, checking if it's alright. I want to wrap my arms around him, make him stay, make him hold me together, as he did before the Quarter Quell. Even after all this time I'm still using him. This realization almost makes me push him out, but I am selfish, and I want him, I need him. I try to move my arms, and though it feels like I have fifty pound weights strapped to both arms I manage it get them to Peeta's wrist, before they fail and fall into the cotton sheets, my fingers managed to keep hold of him. I repeat myself, "Stay" my eyes plead with him, "Stay with me."

He does not take much convincing, and unfolds next to me, he keeps me wrapped into the blankets. I lay my head on his chest, and as I drift into another nightmare and I wonder if I really hear him whisper "Always."

* * *

Our routine continues, I only speak at night, asking him to stay, even though he knows to now.

I cannot say if a day has passed or a week or a year, the schedule is monotonous and I fit right in. After in immeasurable amount of time I wake in the night, this time is different than the past silent fits I've woken too. This time my throat is itching, and feels like sandpaper, I hear screaming, my head thrashes wildly, they're hurting her, "PRIM!" I cannot see her, but I can hear her. The screaming gets closer and closer, until it's on top of me. I takes me minutes to realize the noise is coming from my own mouth, I am the one screaming, the first time I have woken up, not mute. Peeta's arms are wrapped around me like the vines we saw curled around the jungle trees in the clock arena. My screams sound odd now, I stop.

It becomes eerily quiet, and I can hear my heart beat, as well as feel it in my throat, in my ears, and in the tips of my fingers and toes. In the dark silence I am all too aware of the fact that Peeta is so close, his eyes full of fear that I am not okay, which I'm not, he knows, it's just more apparent with the lights off and the volume of my scratchy voice turned up. All at once I seek comfort in him, impulsively, my cold chapped lips press against his soft warm ones, he doesn't react for a moment, then he's pushing me off, it's over in two seconds.

"Katniss," he whispers quietly, I try to kiss him again, "Katniss, stop" his hands press against my waist softly.

"No," I mumble into his chest. "I want you," I myself can hear how pathetic I sound, like Buttercup when I tried to drown him. That's how I feel now, like I'm drowning with no way to find the air that promises my lungs the relief they so desperately need.I hear him sigh, one of his hands runs down my hair, the other holding me protectively,

"No, you're confused Katniss, you're still in shock, you're not... in the right mindset," Another person is leaving me. I don't know whether to cry, or give up, to let the water completely submerge me. No one wants me. I am broken and rough, no one wants to get near that. I roll over to my side facing away from Peeta. I don't cry, but another piece of me becomes hollow, I am utterly empty now. "Katniss," Peeta's voice is full of sadness, and maybe pity, which brings up a hot flame in my stomach, the first emotion I've felt other than pain since the war.

"No. You can leave."

"Katniss, no, it's just-"

"GO," my vocal cords strain as I scream, flipping towards him, the fastest I've moved in such a long time that my body protests the simple action.

My cheeks are hot and wet, his thumbs, which are soft like his lips, wipe my tears away. "Katniss," I'm not sure I like my name on his lips, "I can't," I know he is not talking about himself leaving.

"Why not?" my voice bounces as small hiccups rack my abdomen.

"Like I said, you're not in the right mindset, you're looking for an output, you don't really want this." his voice is quiet and sad. I realize the sad tone comes from the "you don't really want this." he wishes I wanted it. But right now I do want it. I think. Maybe I don't. I'm not sure. I stop crying but the hiccups bounce through my body, much like the feelings inside of my head, I curl into his side, his shirt is wet from where my tears slid off my face. He murmurs to me until I stop hiccuping, I don't fall asleep.

* * *

The next morning Peeta goes about his normal routine, making me breakfast, pancakes today, urging me to eat more, making me a fire, wrapping me into a pile of wool. He is about to go about the rest of his day, I'm not sure what he does really, bakes? Draws? He has to do something other than take care of crazy old me. Before he leaves I speak up, the first time I've talked in daylight, and the first time I've put together words in complete sentences. I don't want to have this conversation in particular, I embarrassed myself enough the night before, but I have to say something.

"Peeta?" my voice is getting slightly better, although still thick.

"Yes Katniss?" he stops in the doorway, his hand on the frame. The next words don't come out easily,

"I'm sorry," I stare at the wooden floor when I say this,

"It's okay, I understand" his voice is soft, and caring. He leaves after saying this, leaving me to stare at the fire and think about my actions, and his words. He understands, does that mean he tried to seek comfort in me before? Did I miss it? I think about before our first games, no, our contact before then was limited, to stories everyone has now memorized as the beginning of our "epic love story." After the first games? I crushed him, but then we became friends, I knew he wanted to be more, but respected my choices, is that what he was referring to? Perhaps.

We go on pretending nothing happened, I begin to speak a little more, saying thank you when he prepares all three of my meals each day. I notice he sits and eats with me, something my brain blurred out previously. I pick my head up now, not keeping my gaze exclusively at the bowls and plates set under my nose. Eventually I talk more, "What do you do?" the question comes off vaguely.

"What do I do?"

"When you're not..." I pick at my cheese bun, searching for words, "making our meals, or building fires, or wrapping me in blankets?"

"Oh, well, usually I paint, or bake," I wonder what he does with what he bakes, we certainly can't be eating all of it, it seems he has to force me to eat more than a few bites every few hours.

We eat in silence for the rest of the meal. When he is about to start my fire, I interrupt his action, "Will you show me?"

"Hmm?" he vaguely acknowledges me, stacking branches strategically in the stone fire place.

"Show me the paintings?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." he sets the wood down, he stands and offers me a hand up, I accept it, leaving my cocoon behind, without the shell I realize for the first time that I am cold. I pull the baggy shirt I'm wearing tightly around myself, trying to keep the nonexistent body heat wrapped into my shirt. Peeta gently leads me down the hall into a room I'm not sure I've ever been in, even though it is technically my house. The room has several easels with different canvases on each one. The first painting I lay my eyes on is that of a young girl, eating bread, I can't recognize her, so I figure she used to be a customer at Peeta's family bakery. I turn to see three paintings are lined in order, and my eyes widen as I recognize the scene, it is me, in my white wedding dress, on stage with Caesar, the next is me engulfed in flames, with black smoke rising around my body, the third is me again, this time standing with my arms outstretched, a symbol of the revolution, a symbol I try to run away from during the day, yet run straight into the arms of the cruel memories at night. I turn away, hoping for a different scene, one that doesn't involve me or any part of my past. I look to a safe unfamiliar scene I cannot recognize, it's warm and I assume it's the inside of Peeta's family bakery, or what used to be his family bakery, before the war. The war ruins everything, even Peeta's beautifully painted scenes, that have exquisite brushstrokes and mixed colors.

He seems to sense my anxiety about the flashbacks the scenes provide, his voice comes softly from the door, "Maybe we should go back to living room..." I stare for a little longer, painfully reliving my past year, before turning wordlessly back to Peeta, and walking back to the safe familiarity of my blankets.

"How can you paint those things?" my voice is a strained whisper. It takes him so long to speak I begin to wonder if the sound makes it outside of my safe blanket pile.

"It helps me," Helps him how, I wonder, although not for long, because he elaborates after a moments pause, as though he is recalling a memory. "The things that I paint... they help me differentiate what's real and what's not real... the fake memories always come out a little odd when painted,"

This leaves me wondering again, how do the fake scenes come out differently than the real ones? He certainly hasn't played the "real or not real" game with me in ages, so he has either gotten tremendously good at telling the "shiny" memories from the real ones, or is asking someone else. This of course leads me into another train of thought, who could he be asking? It's not like there are a whole lot of people left to talk to, the war took almost everyone we cared about, only two names come to my mind, Johanna, and Haymitch. Out of the two I'd have to assume Haymitch would be his verifier, seeing that Johanna is thousands of miles away, and remembering the past year doesn't settle well with her either.

Peeta watches me carefully while I put it all together, or at least what I think is together. I don't remember the last time I spoke to Haymitch, but I can't say I'm in a hurry to see him, too many bad memories. I decide that's a conversation for another day, and steer the conversation away from our drunk neighbor, "What do you have planned for today?" Peeta looks slightly stunned, usually plans are limited to eating, sitting in front of the fire, and screaming when my demons visit at night. His mouth opens for a second, considering the possibilities of what to do with me. "I mean what were you going to do?" I figure I can hang out with him, like we used to.

"I have a new recipe I was going to try out..." his voice trails, knowing I don't have a particular interest in baking, but he's been far too good to me I cannot be even more of a burden to disrupt his plans.

"What are you making?"

"Banana pudding," this peaks my interest, I have only heard of bananas, never seen one or tasted one, I think they come from district three or four, somewhere where the weather is hot and sticky year round. Pudding on the other hand I have had, once with Cinna, in the capital, it tasted pretty good, despite it's off putting appearance and consistency.

"Well lead the way," this puts Peeta off again, I doubt he's had any company at all in the kitchen since the days he worked with his brothers at his family bakery. I push off the floor, bringing a pale blue blanket draped around my frail shoulders, and follow an almost hesitant Peeta into the large kitchen I was entitled to after the games. Peeta begins pulling out ingredients I can't name out of cupboards, he reaches into a large painted bowl and pulls out curved yellow things, bananas I assume. He works quickly, measuring and mixing and pouring. He's picking up the bananas when he notices my silent evaluation of the new food. He peels the skin back,and breaks off a chunk of the paler inside food, handing it to me, cautiously I raise it to my mouth. It's soft, and tastes like it's color, but maybe a little more forthcoming and bold than the paleness would suggest. I decide I like it.

"It's good," I offer from my place on the counter, my blanket has acquired a white powder lining from being around Peeta's baking supplies. "When can I have the rest of it?"

"Well it has to sit for a few hours, then we can eat." I look outside to the sun to see what time it is, I can't find a clock anywhere in the kitchen. It's about 11 in the morning, from the shadows. While we wait for the pudding to set we lay on the sofa in silence, my head on his lap, him playing with my hair. It's the closest I've gotten to peace in as long as I could remember, I don't mind spending the following hours like that. Eventually my stomach interrupts the serenity with a rumble and Peeta insists we eat, he looks down to my stomach, where my sweater has pulled up, revealing my prominent hip bones. I know he's right, that I have neglected my body in the past weeks, months, however long it has been, so I help myself to a plate of pasta mixed with herbs and meat and for dessert, three bowls of banana pudding, the whole process puts a wide smile on Peeta's face. My face however is uneasy after my third bowl, so much food in such a short amount of time does not settle well in my stomach that is acquainted with the emptiness my stomach used to hold.

Quickly I am out of my chair, throwing up into the white tile sink, Peeta follows a second later, holding back my hair, rubbing small soothing circles on my back. Once I am done retching Peeta fills a glass with water and makes me drink, "so pudding isn't your strong suit huh?" he teases, I roll my eyes. After all the excitement Peeta wraps me in blankets in front of the fire once again, a bucket close by, and feeds me crackers and pushes glasses of water into my hands. We sit in silence, him handing me crackers, me obediently munching on them, and I begin to think I could get used to this. Not the throwing up part. But the part where Peeta and I can sit in silence comfortably, or talk, if we want. It's not perfect, but he's all I've got left now.

_I wrote this as a one shot but I feel like it can be expanded, please let me know if you would like more chapters to explore their relationship more, I probably will add more chapters. I hope everyone enjoyed the story, let me know what you thought in the reviews please! -MG_


	2. Chapter 2

"NO!" I wake screaming, trying to push whoever is next to me away. They should not be here. No one can be here.  
"Katniss! It's okay!" the person's voice is soothing and tries to grab me, making me lash out even more. I start sobbing, weakly, I shouldn't be crying, they know I'm weak now,  
"Leave me alone! Get off!" my breathing is labored now, but my eyes are a little more in focus and I have the sense I know whoever it is laying next to me. I fall into my crying, unable to form words, I just hope they'll leave me alone. I feel a hand run down my hair, a loving gesture. A loving gesture. That may be worse than someone trying to kill me. Love only brings pain and crippling sadness, I'd rather be dead than love and lose again.  
"It's just me! It's Peeta, Katniss you're okay! It was just a dream." I think his words over, stop crying and start hiccuping.  
"It's not okay, YOU NEED TO GO! GET OUT!" I'm yelling again, "YOU CAN'T BE HERE,"  
"It was just a dream, you're fine, you're safe."  
"It's not just a dream, you're going to be taken from me, you're going to leave, gone, I'll be alone... all alone, no Prim, no father, no Peeta, no mother, no Gale..." I'm muttering a mile a minute and probably sound mad, I am mad though, have been since I won the first games, so it works.  
"Katniss, I'm staying right here,"  
"No, please," I'm back to sobbing, begging him to leave before I get even more attached. They can't hurt anyone else. "Go, GO!" I push against him with my hands and legs.  
"Katniss," his voice sounds broken, either over my current state, or my words, or both. "We can't do this," I shake my head. "Please leave," I hear him roll out of our bed, and I immediately feel his side of the bed go cold. With silent tears falling down my face I fall back asleep, clutching onto a pillow.

* * *

I wake hours later, screaming and searching for Peeta, where is he? Why isn't he here? What have they done to him? "PEETA? PEETA WHERE ARE YOU?" I collapse, they've taken him, he's dead, "Peeta," his name is muffled into my pillow. My entire body aches with an indescribable pain, _I'll never be happy, he's gone, they're all gone, everyone, taken, why won't they just kill me too?_ My chest is hollow as I lay, saying his name over and over, I hear the door swing open, _They've come for me now,_ I think, _good._ I feel a pair of arms wrap around my body, I don't fight, I want to be dead. Dead like Prim. Dead like Finnick. Dead like my father. Dead like Peeta. But the arms don't kill me, no, they do something much worse, they attempt to comfort me. I raise my puffy eyes to the face attached to the arms, blonde hair and unmistakable blue eyes, it's Peeta. _Peeta?_ I must be dead, because that's what Peeta is.  
"Am I dead?" I ask, meriting a small smile from him,  
"No, you're not dead,"  
"Why not? Why can't I just die all ready?" I curl into his side, a tsunami wave of tiredness taking over me.  
"Because I won't let you."

* * *

I lay in my bed, eyes still closed trying to fall back asleep, but I have the feeling I'm being watched, a natural sense to a hunter, I suppose. I open my eyes, (though they feel crusty and swollen, as though I have been crying,) to see Peeta, staring at me unabashedly. His eyes search mine, he doesn't say anything, and I go back to trying to fall asleep. After a few more minutes of laying with my head on Peeta's chest, feeling it rise and fall with his breath, listening to his heart beat, I become impatient with my lack of drowsiness. I sigh and roll out of Peeta's embrace,  
"What's for breakfast?" I throw over my shoulder, indirectly inviting him to come to the kitchen with me. He catches up with me after a few minutes, he probably had to put on his leg, and by then I'm already eating a bowl of cereal. Grabbing his own bowl, and two oranges, he sits down across from me. He breaks the silence after a few minutes,  
"You know I'm never leaving you, right? No one, nothing will take me away,"  
"You can't be sure of that,"  
"I am sure." I nod,  
"Okay," we sit listening to each other crunch on our breakfast for a little while longer, I steal one of his oranges, it was probably meant for me anyways.  
"Do you remember last night well?" he asks warily. I consider this, usually I forget what my nightmares were about specifically, until I have them again, irregardless Peeta has never asked me about my fits after the fact.  
"No," I say slowly, thinking, "Did it have something to do with you leaving?" he nods. I consider this. "You're still here,"  
"Always."

* * *

I go out hunting after our breakfast, leaving Peeta in the kitchen, leaving him still worries me sometimes, I worry about his flashbacks. Me going out into the woods worries him, so I guess we're both nervous wrecks. But being out in the woods is something I need, I need the openness to breathe, and I need something to preoccupy me, staying busy is important. I set a snare line in my first hour, in my second I shoot a squirrel and a bird, I put them in my game bag before climbing a tree and settling into a notch I comfortably fit into. I think about Peeta vowing to never leave, and wonder what was said when I undoubtably woke up screaming. I try to be positive, like my doctors would tell me, I imagine Peeta and I living together happily, safely until we're old. Happily, the word means two very different things to each of us. My happily, given the circumstances, would be having Peeta, and Haymitch even, near me, safe for the rest of our days, if I was lucky the sadness and nightmares would go away, that would be a fairly good outcome for me.  
I know Peeta wouldn't mind that outcome, but he wants more, he deserves more, and I am like one of those ball-and-chain wives to him. Minus the wife part, ironically with only part he really wants. Peeta's happily ever after probably involves us toasting bread for our wedding, a marriage full of true love, and kids. Peeta should get that, but I am too selfish to let him go, to find someone else to comfort and take care of him for the rest of his life. I let my mind wander freely to the prospect of him marrying _me_ and not because anyone is making us for show, because we both want it. Thinking about us having a real life confuses me, makes my heart feel tight, with fear, with guilt, and since there's no point in lying, hope. The other three emotions trump the hope, I don't know how much closer I can get to Peeta, but if there's a way to need him more than I already do I don't want to venture there. If he was taken away I'd die. I guess I'd die wether or not I was his wife, this lets the hope get a little brighter. But wife means kids, and that is something I know I can absolutely not do. Being so attached to Peeta is bad enough, bring in new people that can be taken away is not a possibility. I sit in my high up perch arguing with myself about the possible outcomes of my future in my head for a while, after a long enough time I decide to push the thoughts away, and check on my snares before heading back home.

* * *

Peeta makes an excellent soup out of the squirrel I shot, and had prepared rolls while I was out, to go with it. When I had walked in the door earlier I saw his shoulders lose the tension in them, and his face brightened, I felt the same reaction going on inside of me, now that we were together again we could stop worrying about not being around for a flashback, or a panic attack or some other unknown force that threatens us from the inside. Haymitch joins us for our dinner, we were on good terms again, I decided people die too often to stay mad at anyone for long. That's the kind of negative thinking my doctors advise against, but it works for me. We all act civilized, and no one pulls a knife or soaks someone else with stale vodka. Haymitch grumbles about the trains carrying the liquor being delayed for a day. Peeta politely asks about his geese. That how most dinners go for us three.  
Haymitch leaves after our meal to wallow in misery about having a low alcohol stock, and another train not arriving for two more days. Peeta and I clean up, and I let my mind wander back to my earlier thoughts, as I watch him put plates away, _could I marry Peeta? Would I want to?_ The second question is what troubles me, because I cannot come up with a solid no, but at the same time cannot come up with an eager yes, which I believe is necessary for wanting to marry someone. After our kitchen is cleaned we sit in the living room, (he sits, I lay with my head in his lap) in front of the fire, his hands playing with my hair in a therapeutic way. Everything is so relaxing and as close to perfect given the circumstances, I could imagine living this way forever. I wonder if Peeta agrees.  
"How do you imagine the future?" I ask,  
"I imagine it like this, you and I,"  
"Romantically?"  
"You know I would never push you there," I smile, and he knows I'm thinking of how he _did_ push me there, for the first games. "Fine, I pushed you there once, but it saved both our lives."  
"And started a war," I ruin our romantic story in four words.  
"I think it was your sucky acting that really screwed everything up, we all know it wasn't me," he teases me, I scowl.  
"You never imagined your future like this though, not before everything happened." I persist.  
"That's true,"  
"You imagined a wife, and children,"  
"Yes," Peeta is more honest with me than I can be with myself.  
"I'm sorry,"  
"You shouldn't be,"  
"I am. I'm sorry I can't give you what you want. Children terrify me, they can be taken away and they remind me of Prim,"  
"I wouldn't let anyone take them away,"  
"I know,"  
We're quite for a few minutes until Peeta speaks again, "I always imagined it would be you, so I got that part right." his words make me feel guilty,  
"You imagined me?"  
"Always have, remember? Since I was five? Are you having memory loss? Do I have to tell the story again?"  
"No, not the story again!" we had both heard the story of Peeta falling in love with me at age five thousands of times, while in the Capitol for our victory tour he was asked to tell it over and over. "But really, no one else ever came to mind? Not even an unrecognizable face?"  
"You have to understand my five year old self fell very hard for you Katniss, after that there was no going back."  
"Were you ever going to talk to me if we hadn't ended up in the games together? Or continue your unrequited love for the rest of your life and remain single forever?""I had to think of how to talk to you properly, you weren't the most inviting of our classmates. There was also Gale to consider."  
"And did you have any idea of how to talk to me properly?"  
"No, not a clue," he admits with a laugh. "What would have worked?"  
"Nothing, probably, I never wanted to get married or have children,"  
"Damned from the start it seems."  
"Seems so."  
"I would have been more tactical than that though. My introduction wouldn't have been, 'I've been in love with you since you were five, please marry me and have my children,' I'd try to start off as friends."  
"I'm not really good at friends either," I point out.  
"I did know that,"  
"Hey!" I smack his arm,  
"It's true, you and Madge would sit alone at your lunch table, and you weren't the most inviting person," he has a point, while I wasn't particularly rude I wasn't particularly nice either,  
"So you would have befriended me, then made your move?"  
"Yes,"  
"Okay," I nod.  
"Okay?"  
"Yes," I don't say it wouldn't have worked anyways, because family was never in the cards for my future, and we both know that. Our discussion has gotten me seriously thinking about my future though, what would it have been like if the past three years hadn't happened, would Peeta have become a part of it? What would I be doing once Prim was married and once Gale was married and no longer had Sundays free to spend with me? I wonder what my future will be like now, will Peeta and I stay friends like this forever? Unlike my future that used to be so clear, I cannot answer that question.

_I hope everyone liked the new chapter! I apologize if there are any grammatical errors, I wrote this pretty quickly and was eager to get it posted. Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, and added my story to their favorites, you all make me smile! To my reviewer Peetagrl3 thank you for your advice on the first chapter, I'll update it soon! -MGB _


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